


The Right Thing To Do

by matanee



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Taxis, deep thoughts arise, it's not really happy, levi picks up a very sad eren on the street late at night, not too gay, very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matanee/pseuds/matanee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where do you live?" I ask, trying to make my voice sound soothing. He wipes his face with clumsy movements and I can tell he's trying to pull himself together, he just can't. He looks up at me but tears are still filling his eyes, and he must be the saddest person I've ever seen. And being a cab driver and all, I've had my fair share of sad people in my life.</p>
<p>"I--" he chokes, but his voice breaks. He clears his throat and manages to give an answer the second time around. "I don't know anymore."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Thing To Do

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first SNK fic that I'm publishing. I've written so many, you guys have no idea, I just don't feel like publishing them because I'm not sure they are good enough. This is different, though. I hope I will keep writing fics that I can upload, I would really love to hear your thoughts on them. I'm just a chicken.
> 
> I owe a huge thanks to my darling flatmate for always reading what I write about these two dorks. She is the Eren to my Levi and nothing will ever change that. <3

It's past midnight when I get a call. I'm already way too bored to continue trying to phone in to the late night radio show and win those two tickets for that Taylor Swift concert, so I drive out instead. The streets are empty and dark, the traffic is nice, and I realize yet again that this is why I love night shifts more than day ones. It might be more boring and the chances of picking up a group of drunken teenagers are a lot higher, but it's still better. Nights are more comfortable. Nights are where I feel at home.

The address is literally the corner of two main streets, and there are more people and cars there, but I find a spot to stop at easily. I watch the passersby in the rearview mirror until I see one tall, dark haired guy walking towards my car. He doesn't bother to look at me through the passenger seat's window, he just gets into the taxi and closes the door with confidence, albeit not too much force.

I notice that his jaw is bruised, but I can't see his face too clearly, and I don't care enough to look at him more closely.

"Where to?" I ask, touching the key in the ignition.

He's silent for a few seconds, then he mutters something under his breath that I can't understand. I ask him again, a little louder this time, and he sighs.

"Home."

I look up and through the windshield, but I can see nothing besides the dozens of parked cars on the sides of the road in front of me.

"And where's that?"

There is a long minute of silence after that, and I wonder if he'd fallen asleep. I take a deep breath, not even trying to hide my annoyance.

"Look, kid, I'm really not in the mood to--"

I look in the rearview mirror again, only to see him soundlessly sobbing into his palm. Even less of his face is visible to me now, but his shoulders are shaking and silent sobs are escaping from his fragile frame. It's only now that I see how thin he is, how long his brown locks are, how small of the backseat space he takes up. I'm pretty sure he's not really a kid, maybe only compared to me, but now he definitely looks like one, and I suddenly feel bad for shitting on him.

I wait for a few moments, but he doesn't stop crying and I turn around in my seat. He has bruises on his knuckles too, I can see it now, and I can't help but wonder what had happened to him.

"Where do you live?" I ask, trying to make my voice sound soothing. He wipes his face with clumsy movements and I can tell he's trying to pull himself together, he just can't. He looks up at me but tears are still filling his eyes, and he must be the saddest person I've ever seen. And being a cab driver and all, I've had my fair share of sad people in my life.

"I--" he chokes, but his voice breaks. He clears his throat and manages to give an answer the second time around. "I don't know anymore."

Ridiculously, the first thing that comes to my mind is that I can relate to that. But I don't tell him that, obviously, so I just nod a little in understatement and look down at his hands that are now resting in his lap. His fingers are long and elegant, but his hands are shaking and I'm not sure how to fix this. Should I be the one fixing him anyway? I'm just a taxi driver and he's just a kid I've met exactly two minutes ago.

"What's your name?"

His face doesn't change the tiniest bit, and I sense it's not the first time he's in a situation like this. He doesn't even flinch when he answers.

"Eren."

"Eren," I repeat, rolling the name on my tongue like I'm going to need it for long time purposes. He tries to control his crying with taking deep breaths, but he keeps sniffing and I don't want him to be an even bigger mess than he is now. I take a pack of tissues from the glovebox and he thanks me with a warm look through his tears. Then, I turn back to the wheel and start the engine. "How much have you drunk?"

"I'm sober." He's hoarse, like he hasn't used his voice in weeks, and I drive back to the main street.

"Good."

"Are you taking me to the police station?"

I furrow my brows at him in the mirror, but he's too busy folding the tissue into a rectangle. At least he stopped crying for the moment.

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. Because I look suspicious."

"You were crying, not pointing a gun at me."

"I could have a gun."

"Yeah, you could."

He doesn't answer and we drive in comfortable silence. The radio is still humming lowly, but it's not too loud to be disturbing. I stop at a red light and drum on the steering wheel with my fingers lightly.

"I tried to thumb a ride but no one would stop."

I manage a dry laugh at that, but it's completely humourless. I don't even know what humour is anymore.

"Be glad you weren't killed."

"Wouldn't have minded."

I pretend to ignore it, but I store it with the information I have on him. The light goes green and I drive on.

"Why didn't you call a taxi first?"

"I don't have any money."

"That's why you were crying?"

He's silent and I don't want to intimidate him by looking at him so I watch the road.

"Yes."

We both know it's a lie, but I'm good at lies and he doesn't look like it's his first rodeo either. He's one of the people who are younger on the outside.

"I don't have any money."

"I heard you just fine the first time."

"I can't pay for the ride."

"It happens."

And it's not one of the lies. When it's extremely tragic, it's usually not a lie.

"Do you do that often?"

"Do what?"

"Take people with no money."

"Sometimes."

"Who was the most interesting?"

I have to think about that for a second. I don't get this question very often. To be frank, I've never been asked this question before.

"I once had to take a homeless woman. I've seen her countless times as I drove past the market, always sitting in a dim lit alley, never begging with the others. I pulled up next to her about a month ago and said, 'Someone called for a ride.' She looked baffled but she didn't say anything, she just looked at me for a very long time. She wiped the dust and the dirt off her skirt and got in. She tried to look her best, even when she had nothing. I took her to a ride around the city. It took 45 minutes because we took a look at everything. Mostly the places where no homeless are allowed anymore, not even to wander about. Tourist sights. Then I took her back to where she lived and told her to get a job because there is always a job. She said she would, and I drove away. I haven't seen her sitting there ever since, not even once."

"Did she get a job?"

"I don't know. She might've died."

"I think she got a job."

"Maybe."

He's silent for a long time and I'm used to it already. He's completely calm by now, just staring out of the window. I'm not sure if he's aware that I'm staring at him in the meantime. Now that I can see his face, he suddenly looks like what I suppose must be his age. He's definitely not a kid, and I feel a bit more comfortable about it this way. Maybe he's sane enough not to do anything stupid once I drop him at the hotel.

"You said you had to take her."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Our eyes meet and for a moment I'm not sure if he realized that the story wasn't true. That I made it up, that it's what I do. That I lie, and he lies, and everyone lies. But he must know, because that's why he was crying. It had to be. It always comes down to this at the end of the day.

"Because this is the right thing to do."

I slow down in front of the hotel and I eventually stop. Neither of us moves for a few seconds, we just stare into thin air. Then he shuffles out of the car without a word, comes around it and stops next to my window. I pull it down and look at him. It's the first close look I have, and I can't help the way my lips go dry immediately.

"I want to pay you for the ride when I have money," he says, and I'm impressed how completely different he seems from the person I picked up 15 minutes ago. I shake my head with a small smile.

"No, you don't."

"Why?"

"Because it's a big city and you won't see me again."

He smiles, and I don't know which one of us is the bigger liar. I feel like I'm being torn in half, leaving him there on his own, when he's so perfectly fucked up that I'm sure I already like him. I'm sure I'm about to ditch a huge opportunity, but I'm used to doing things that make no sense. Not many people can understand that.

"But don't thumb cars anymore. You really don't want to die, trust me," I offer a last piece of advice, but he smiles even wider, like we're discussing puppies and unicorns.

"How do you know?"

"You ask too many questions," I snap at him, but it has no edge. He bites on his lower lip, and I wonder if he does this on purpose.

"And you think too much. I will stop asking and wishing for death if you stop thinking and start acting instead."

I think about the woman I see by the market every day, but at Eren I only raise an eyebrow.

"Do I look like I need advice, brat?"

"I gave it because it seemed like the right thing to do," he steps back from the car with a shrug and I snort, shaking my head a little.

I wanna say how fucking ridiculous he is, but I drive away first. I keep glancing at the rearview mirror, even when I'm back on the empty street.


End file.
